Short, very adult stories, brought to you by our team of contributors. This edition: Turning Thirty - a birthday present sees a very naughty fantasy brought to life...

I decided to reignite the spark in our marriage exactly two weeks before I turned thirty. It happened the day I found the cowboy in our bed. He had been there for three days and neither of us had noticed him.

I mean, he wasn't a real cowboy; he was a toy of my nephew's which shouted 'yeehaw' when you shook him. The point was that he had stayed nestled in the middle of our bed where I'd hidden him from the dog and then forgotten about him. Sam and I had slept so separately for at least three nights that we hadn't even felt him there between us, never mind done any kind of shaking to set him off.

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Four years ago Sam and I had burst like fireworks into each other's lives. We married a year later, glowing with love and hormones. We were full of hope; no, belief. He was always hot for me and I was wet at the very thought of him. But these days the only hot thing that ever popped up into my hand came out of the toaster, and my pants only ever got wet in the wash.

Torpor had crept into our marriage and gradually we'd become one of those awful sexless couples we'd sworn we'd never be. We seldom made love, and when we did there was little intimacy, it was just functional sex. What made me saddest of all was that we hardly kissed anymore. We still laughed, we still talked and we still cuddled. But we'd fallen asleep from the waist down. What if we never woke up again, or worse, what if only one of us did?

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If only I could pinpoint that crucial moment in our relationship when sex had stopped being a banquet and turned into a TV dinner. What if another woman came along and Sam fancied a little midnight snack? He had always been curious about my fantasies but we hadn't needed them back then. Reality had been a fantasy in itself. Now I wondered if we ought to be turning our fantasies into realities before it was too late.

It had happened so slowly that I hadn't noticed, but standing there with the cowboy in my hand just a fortnight away from my thirtieth birthday I resolved to do something about it. I had no intention of letting myself or our marriage disappear over the hill.

"This turning thirty thing is in your head," my friend Laura said
"You go to sleep one night; you wake up the next day. You aren't suddenly a year or a decade older than the night before. You're just seven hours older, like every other morning."

"But time's passing," I said, "and is this it? Is the best of our marriage gone forever along with my twenties? Is a Saturday night duty shag the most we can expect?"

"I thought Sam was great in bed?" Laura asked.

"He was, he is, but the spark's gone," I said.

"So liven it up again; unleash a couple of fantasies on each other," suggested Laura. She was the kind of woman who would never let a cowboy go unnoticed in her bed.

"My fantasy is being 26 again," I grumbled.

My real problem was that not every fantasy is as simple as Laura's. Her boyfriend merely has to tip a Stetson onto his head and say 'howdy ma'am' to get her going. Cowboy movies are foreplay for her.

Some people's fantasies are more complicated than that. Some people's fantasies feature sex with lots of men, or doing it in front of a small admiring audience. Or in my case both.

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Laura sloshed more wine into her glass. "Just change what turning thirty means for you, Holly. You're a grown woman with a great job. You're married to a gorgeous man who loves you and you're beautiful. Turn thirty Holly."

So that night in bed, I cuddled up to Sam and told him about the toy cowboy and my concern about our state of the union.

He sighed and I smelt his apple-sweet breath, the familiar scent of my Sam.

"My fantasy is you turned on like you used to be," he said a little sadly. "I don't care how or where or why. If you told me you wanted us to do it with a real cowboy I'd go find one right now."

Maybe Laura was right. A particular fantasy of mine had been getting some action lately on those duty-sex Saturdays. Perhaps now was the time to share.

"It's not about fancying anyone else," I began cautiously, "but I imagine men; other faceless men. You're there too but I'm blindfolded and I can't see you or any of them. You all take turns with me, licking me out and fucking me, while the rest silently watch."

There was a pause. Then we both started breathing a little heavier and Sam answered by clasping my bottom and drawing me into him. A long-silenced drum started to beat between my legs. I brushed a hand down inside Sam's t-shirt towards his cock and to my surprised excitement found that it was rock hard. I took him in my hand and moaned as he began to stroke me. In a low voice he started to embellish my scenario with a few details of his own. That boy has some imagination.

Hey, and it wasn't even Saturday.

Two nights later, just as we were falling asleep, Sam took a deep breath and spoke.

"Holly, I can't stop thinking about it. I want to do it. Consider it a turning thirty present. Some other men, the two of us, one time only and no regrets. I interviewed a discreet group of men for work last month whose thing is exactly what you describe. They're safe and I'd trust them with you."

I squirmed. Sam was a journalist and I'd sneakily read his piece on the anonymous men's club. It was precisely what had re-awoken my long dormant fantasy.

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Going carefully, I kissed him. "Fantasies are called fantasies for a reason; they belong in the imagination."

"Holly, we both know your imagination is your biggest erogenous zone," he replied. "There's nothing I'd like more than to see you have your fantasy come true. You're bored with sex and I want you back."

I said nothing.

Over the next days we made love more often than usual. It was clear that the idea was playing on both our minds. Sam only needed to whisper about a blindfold, the silent intense attention from the faceless men, their arousal whilst watching each other pleasure me. As he retold the story I would be wet at the first mention of it and he could bring me to a shuddering climax with just one lazy finger.

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The thing is that I trust Sam. I love him. And I wanted my fantasy too. I was turning thirty, not one hundred. So one week before my birthday I said yes.

The date and place were set for the very last night of my twenties at our home. According to the fantasy I would be blindfolded and only Sam would be allowed to speak. Sam would organise everything else and ensure that all the men, although invisible to me beyond my blindfold, were my type. A camcorder would be set in place so I could watch everything later.

We agreed that kissing on the mouth was out of bounds. Kissing was the thing that would turn it from sexy experiment into unfaithfulness.

The eve of my 30th birthday was a dark and starry night in November. Shortly before they arrived I showered, to ease my nerves as much as to be fresh for them. I quivered at my own touch as I soaped in between my legs. Who else would touch me there tonight? Sam came to check on me, and I looked at him as if for the first time, my handsome husband. Was he really into this or was he doing it just for me?
"Are you sure?" he asked.
"If you are." I said.

When I turned off the shower I could hear them in our room, muted deep voices. Sam had chosen my costume. An opaque cerise slip that perfectly cupped my full breasts, floated past my small waist and barely covered my bottom. Paired with why-even-bother wisps of knickers, I looked like something out of Victoria's Secret.

Taking a deep breath, I pulled the matching mask over my eyes and opened the door into our bedroom. The shuffling and whispering hushed. From here on I belonged to them all for the night. I could sense the heat of their gazes immediately on me. It burned over my skin and quickened my breath.

"We both know your imagination is your biggest erogenous zone," he said. "There's nothing I'd like more than to see you have your fantasy come true."

Sam whispered, "Wow, Holly." He took my hands and led me until I felt the bottom of our bed against my knees.

"Stand," he directed. He retreated into the corner of the room and I heard him sit on our big armchair.

To my surprise the first man was already behind me. A ripple of desire ran through me as I felt his breath hot on the back of my neck and I wondered exactly where the others were. I knew they were positioned to watch from every angle. This man smelled of peppermint. He lightly ran his hands over my body. He snaked his fingers through my hair and pulled my head back before kissing the side of my neck.

Next something cold and hard slid up inside my thighs, and then skimmed over my belly and breasts to my shoulders. The cold hard blades of a pair of scissors snipped through each flimsy strap. He slid one hand around my stomach and with the other cut through the slip right up to my breasts, which rose into his waiting hands.

I felt the puff of fabric skim past my thighs to the floor. Still behind me, he smoothed his fingers over my shoulders, across my collarbone and down to my breasts, weighing them in his hands. Then he sliced through my knickers from back to front. They fell to the floor and I stood naked before them all.

Sam spoke again and even from across the room I could hear the excitement in his voice.

"There's a towel on the bed. Lie on your back. Spread your legs. You're going to be shaved now." I did so, deciding to give them a show and knowing as I parted my legs that the whole room would see the pink wetness inside the light strip of blond fur between my thighs. A hot damp cloth was placed there, and my hips bucked involuntarily.

Then I felt soft warm stroking. This guy was using a shaving brush to cover that little blond strip with foam.

Next I felt sharp cold metal against my softest of skin. I lay stock still as the razor came in repeated careful strokes. Blood pounded to my core as I felt this man's concentration and the others watching my mounting excitement.

The man paused every few seconds to rinse the blade in warm water. A second application of foam was gently applied. This time the sensation of shaving foam and razor against me was unbearably delicious. It was hard not to move but I didn't dare. He shaved around my clitoris, only touching me incidentally with his fingers and then he drew the blade downwards. I could sense his intense pleasure and felt how smooth my softest of skin was now. He wiped me again; this time the cloth was cool, and he stood back to admire the results. I kept my legs parted; knowing they all could see me glistening with anticipation.

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He backed away slowly and the next man advanced. After the intense experience of being shaved I was aching to feel one of them inside me, but the second man had his own agenda.

The warmth of his body hovered above me. My first sensations were a whiff of whisky, a chinking sound and then a point of coldness on my right shoulder, followed by a warm mouth. He had ice in a glass of whisky. He stroked a cube of ice around one of my hardened nipples whilst taking the other firmly between his lips and rolling his warm tongue around it. The contrast was incredible. And then he swapped, my ice-cold right nipple drew the attention of his hot mouth, and the left one was iced back into a stiff peak.

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He stroked and sucked my breasts until I was shivering with excitement, then he trailed ice down across my belly towards my newly shaved peachy softness.

My hips started rocking with tiny movements back and forth as he traced the line from my clitoris down inside me. I just wanted his lips - and in a sudden shock I got them. The intensity of his hot mouth after the ice made me cry out and I heard at least one man in the room gasp as I spread my legs wider. He played with the ice, following it on my frozen skin with the heat of his hot lips and tongue, before he at last gave my quivering clitoris its first lick. His tongue circled, teasing, applying pressure, withdrawing, not to allowing me to come too soon. He slipped the melting ice cubes inside me, drank them from me, and when they were gone he followed them with his fingers.

Sam and the others quietly watched this man playing with me, my head thrown back in the ecstasy of the moment. The beat between my legs was thundering as his tongue on my clitoris and his fingers thrumming the spot deep inside me suddenly made a heavenly connection. He buried his face in me as I came shuddering onto his warm mouth.

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Then he was gone and the third man approached. He took my hips, flipped me over and dragged me to my knees at the edge of the bed.

This time there was no foreplay. There was no need, any wetter and I would need a life jacket. I pushed myself up and back onto his erection. He grasped both my hips and pounded into me, driving away the delicacy and intimacy of all the shaving and licking. I groaned with pure pleasure.

Having watched the others take their time this one just fucked me hard and fast. It was exactly what I wanted. I put my weight on my hands and braced myself against him, feeling my breasts sway beneath me and taking great pleasure in the depth of his penetration, the feeling of his cock sliding into my shaven pussy. I was near the summit again already, and feeling me start to come he drove his cock even further and harder into me, sending me spinning into space at the exact moment that he pumped his orgasm deep inside me.

I collapsed face down onto the bed and after a few moments he withdrew, stroked my bottom and backed away.

The experience was every bit as exciting as I'd imagined, but for the first time in a year I could feel the connection between Sam and me arching across the room above us all. The pleasure was in the physical sensation of being shaved, a talented tongue in the right spot, and the simple joy of being fucked well. Was it really anything to do with the unfamiliarity of these other men?

No time for thinking now, the fourth man was there. The pace shifted again. He kissed from my ankles up my legs to my bottom and then he rolled me over, parted my legs and kissed from the inside of my knees upwards to my belly. He kissed every rib; he kissed my breasts, my wrists, elbows and armpits. Then he entered me. As our hips locked we started to move in small sure circles together. Suddenly I was sure that this fourth man was Sam. I hoped it was. Let the others watch. They could neither enhance nor spoil it for us now.

The pleasure built exquisitely, and this time the orgasm began rolling over my entire body. Just as I started to whimper with joy we kissed, our lips and tongues melting into one. Apple-sweet breath. Sam lifted the mask gently from my face.

Cautiously I opened my eyes and looked around the room as my handsome apple, peppermint, whisky and Holly-scented husband rocked our orgasms into us.

There was no one else there.

"They were all you," I said him a little later as we lay naked, his arms round me and me back in the nook that had always been mine.

He nodded and brought his camcorder up to our eye level and pressed play.
There was Sam leading me blindfolded into our empty room. Sam cutting my lingerie off. Sam shaving me. Sam sporting an enormous erection teasing me with whisky scented ice, licking and fingering me. Sam fucking me hard from behind. Sam turning off the recording of his voice from above our armchair in the corner, and returning to make love to his wife.

"Don't be cross," he said now. "I wanted you to live your fantasy, and to show you that we can get it back. You forgot how to have sex with me and I forgot how to make love."

And then we slept tucked into each other and smelling of sex. When we woke, he whispered, "Happy birthday, Holly" and we made love. On our own. No audience, no other men, no yeehawing cowboys. It was beautiful.

Okay, the second time I imagined us in a laboratory where a clipboard-carrying team of handsome doctors were paying us to fuck for scientific research. I decided to save that one and mention it to Sam another time.

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